Saturday morning I had my coffee and was headed north out of town just before sunrise. I wasn’t sure where I was headed that morning, just felt like my muse was urging me in that direction. There was a lot of moisture in the air from the rain on Friday evening and the temperature had dropped to the dew point so there was a lot of nice patchy fog along the way. It was really beautiful and magical light.
As I was approaching Broadview the tops of the line of wind generators south of Grady appeared out of the fog. It was such a surreal view, I pulled to a very quick stop and hopped out with my camera, ran across the highway and got 3 or 4 shots before the light changed and the moment was gone.
Magic moments like this I am reminded of a short poem by William Stafford:
When I met my muse I glanced at her and took my glasses off — they were still singing. They buzzed like a locust on the coffee table and then ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and knew that the nails up there took a new grip on whatever they touched. “I am your own way of looking at things” she said. “When you allow me to live with you, every glance at the world around you will be a sort of salvation.” And I took her hand.
(Originally published May 5, 2016)